


Kitchen fork

by Xernia



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Ib (Video Game), Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: But I couldn't find the meaning of the song so I guess I'll find a way to relate it to the story, Dream has a bigger role, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Toby Smith | Tubbo, Implied Bullying, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, In this Story at Least, Insecurity, Intrusive Thoughts, It's something I was always curious about, Low Self-Esteem, Mentioning of abandoment, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Painting, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Schlatt is mentioned like once so, Sometimes the words will go up and that’s me adding bits, The title is the song I recently listened to bc I got nothing, This au has been living rent free in my head, Toby Smith | Tubbo-centric, Tommy and Techno are brothers, Violent Thoughts, Was planning for this to be a three shot but i forgot the game is hella long, Wilbur and Tubbo are siblings, and in any story, but it’s only descriptive bits to increase word count, dont rush for children to grow up because they will, for example, hahaha, hopefully, i like a large word count, implied starvation, it appears in most children, it's just how it is and that's fine, selective mutism, they're bad in social siduations and it's not like they want to, tubbo is great, tubbo is like 12 but he's valid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:21:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28005318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xernia/pseuds/Xernia
Summary: Tubbo doesn’t like to get loud. He’s the quietest person in his house and he likes to keep it that way. He doesn’t want to talk to people, it just gets his nerves up. He still tries, for what it worth, he still tries to be a good kid for his new family.He never takes in account if he was ever separated from them. He doesn’t know what to do or what’s expected of him. He’s not sure where to go or what to do if he’s lost.He has no idea what to do if he gets stuck in a world that seems to make no sense but here he was...Still making trouble for them in the end.-Or Tubbo wants to spend time with the people he’s considered family, although it’s hard opening your heart. Now he’s lost, afraid and scared of living paint and art forms all desperate for him... for some odd reason.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot
Comments: 23
Kudos: 110





	1. Wandering never got you anywhere, why did you think it'll be different now?

He likes to think he’s rational and this was all according to plan. That this wasn’t some funny prank but rather something that’s like a museum tour. Maybe he’s making his own adventure - there’s no way that this can happen right?

There’s no way that the painting would just… open up a new world right? There’s no way…

Tubbo swallows thickly, standing at the end of the red velvet rope, looking down at the deep sea monster painting, one that was engraved into the floor. Sickly dark blue colors blended in - and if you could look closely. There was an armless snake-like entity, not moving, but filled with gaping holes and small light blue rounded teeth. His mouth was slightly ajar, as if inviting him closer, beckoning him in the mouth of the beast.

There were dark inky footprints here, shoe prints, indicating that someone went in there. Wilbur’s coat was dipped partially in there too...

And as much as he hated the idea, of going somewhere without Wilbur or Phil with him, of going anywhere that looked sketchy - he didn’t exactly have a choice. There was no one here, nothing but his thoughts. And staying in this lonely museum was leading nothing but just frying his nerves.

Standing here, he wonders exactly how he got into the situation.

* * *

It was a normal Wednesday, nothing extra about it. Wilbur had scored some tickets due to a raffle in his school, the museum of distortion. An unknown artist who never finished his paintings - but always wanted them on display, proud of his incomplete art. Showing it broadly outwards because he wanted to make a statement.

Being incomplete wasn’t something to be ashamed of. If anything, it was a start. The starting point where everything lied. Even though he, himself, was incomplete, he still made paintings that fascinated the world. But it never got popular until he died, where it was a dead man's painting that made him more brilliant.

Acrylic paints and golden leaves. Fresco and drying paint, of messed up monsters and love and compassion, empty of emotions. Hung up on display as some work - as a trophy to show off.

Tubbo was still in middle school, the younger adopted sibling of the Minecraft family. He was still wary of exploring anything new, because he didn’t like change. It was already hard to get used to Wilbur’s charismatic aura and Philza’s powerful presence.

Wilbur was an upcoming musician who loved to sing songs. Sometimes, they were horribly morbid - but his voice was as smooth as warm coffee in the afternoons. He was naturally talented, playing guitar and singing to entice his audience. He had such a soft and gentle smile, yet he seemed to real and grounded.

He was so very admirable.

Wilbur had chocolate brown hair and mocha eyes that told many sincerities. He was always a man of his word, he didn’t like to go back on his promises. He had an item of comfort, his dark red beanie he always had on him because it reminded him of his mother.

Philza was their father who adopted Tubbo. He was this powerful man who could recite anything that came into mind. He worked for a printing firm, an editor for authors and endless careers. He worked so many jobs, yet always had time for them. Especially Tubbo, since he was the newest factor of their family.

An extended hand reaching out for him.

He had glossy blond hair and lightly blue eyes that screamed out kindness. He was always a benevolent father who took zero shit from Wilbur and took his time trying to coax Tubbo to be more open, although he was reluctant to do so. And it wasn't because they didn't treat him right it was just! He's not used to this.

A happy family, smiling at the picture frame and being. Happy. He was happy. He was grateful for everything and it was just...

.....it was so strange. To be in a busy family that functioned so well. It was scary.

_It was unusual._

Although Philza was there for him, Wilbur was also there for him, trying to help ease him into the family, since this was his first family in a while. Not after the countless foster families that had rejected him because…

“So?” Wilbur grins toothfully, standing before him with his tall legs. He holds up the tickets happily, waving them in the air, offering one to Tubbo. His smile melts however, when he takes a long full look at Tubbo, whose eyes were securely guarded and looking away at him.

Tubbo had just gotten home after school when Wilbur had popped the question. He admits, he wasn’t paying attention when he asked for it, he just nodded and headed to his room silently, shutting the door and locking it so no one could get in. Not that Wilbur had tried before.

He hurriedly takes off his jacket, shrugging off his muddy uniform and sheds his torn pants. He throws them into the laundry bin and grabs the first aid kit. He doesn’t flinch as he applies the alcohol to his fabric burn on his knee, but he does sigh, tired of this…

(He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t like to think about it really.)

After he finishes wrapping up his wounds, he changes into something comfy. Some black sweatpants and a long sleeve shirt with a mario logo. He prepares to go out to fix dinner when he catches his reflection in the dark room, the mirror taunts him with a glare.

Dirty blond hair, almost brown and murky green eyes.

Nothing like his family.

His _family now_.

Tubbo tries not to think about it, shoving it back as he opens the door and is greeted with a worried Wilbur at the door, leaning against the wall. 

“Wil.” He calls out softly, watching as Wilbur jumps, taking off his earbuds, “Are you helping with dinner?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Wilbur nods, and he can see his little frown in his eyebrows, “Are you quite alright?”

Tubbo nods again, reaching out and grabbing his sleeve. He tugs Wilbur downstairs, where they start making pasta. The older sibling has to reach above the stove, to grab the pasta strands as Tubbo researches the recipe on his phone.

“Was it those kids again?”

His eyes flicker to Wilbur then back at the task. He swipes some cheese from the fridge and digs out a pot. He clicks it silently onto the stove and gets the rest of the ingredients out.

“I told those fuckers to leave you alone.” Wilbur hisses, taking a seat at the counter. He doesn’t like him helping and Wilbur knows it. So he helps only at small amounts, when the younger can’t reach for things.

He wants to earn his keep, although he won't say it, afraid of losing this kitchen opportunity.

“It’s fine.” Tubbo says softly, shaking his head, “It wasn’t that bad.”

“But it could be!” Wilbur protests loudly, shaking his head back and burying his head in his hands, “I should have walked you home, I could have! I have a car, hell, I can pick you up next time!”

Tubbo brings the fire to medium heat and starts boiling the water, “It’ll just make it worse.” He states firmly, moving around in autopilot. He doesn’t have to look up to see Wilbur flinch a bit, then looking down at his lap like a guilty person.

It was common knowledge around the school that Tubbo was adopted. He looked nothing like Wilbur or Philza - and although it was none of their business, they made it their business. Like pesky bugs that always grew bigger and bigger until he couldn’t defend himself. Until they crushed him.

But they were scared to do anything drastic. Wilbur wasn’t just a musician or a singer and Philza wasn’t just a busy man who was always tired. They were his family, first and foremost. So he got lucky when it was just a few accidental scrapes and shoves. They've always been strong, firm and safe.

He was lucky.

“It’s not _fair._ ” Wilbur mutters quietly from his seat, “I wish I could help more.”

“If _anything_ , Wilbur.” Tubbo offers him a half smile, “You and Philza have done enough. I can handle my own fights. Thank you for worrying.”

He doesn’t miss Wilbur’s “No, it’s not.” but he does ignore it.

* * *

Family bonding, they had explained when they tucked him in the car. Philza was driving today, he had taken today off just to spend some time with his boys. And Wilbur had won tickets to a museum, the one he was talking about when Tubbo came home about a week ago.

And Tubbo wasn’t one to reject an offer to get closer to his family. He wasn’t opposed at all actually. Although he seemed dismissive when Wilbur had brought it up - he’d be lying if he wasn’t excited for it. He had gotten his bee bag ready, packed with honey treats and sweets.

_(“Bees!?” Tubbo had blurted out loudly, causing Philza and Wilbur to look at him with wide eyes. Tubbo visably shrunk, his hands falling from the bee bag, “Ah… I mean….”_

_Tubbo looks at his feet, frowning and grabbing at his cheeks with his hands. Why? Why had he said something._

_A large shadow casts over him, causing him to look up. Wilbur had a wide goofy grin and slowly spread across his face, “Yeah? You like bees, Tubbster?”_

_Philza didn’t hesitate, buying him several bee related things as Tubbo tried to not wilt away from the amount of attention given to him. His face was so red, he fanned it to try to keep it cool. He smiles nervously as they throw him anything sweet, loving his smile for whatever reason._

_When they got back in the car, he had a bee hat, honey candies and his bee bag. A brown and yellow scarf tucked under his chin, since it was cold. He can see through it, looking at Philza, who was so happy that Tubbo actually said something that he liked for a change, instead of basing it off of Wilbur or his own likes.)_

“Aw shit, look he’s in his little world again.” Tubbo blinked at Philza’s gentle eyes under the rearview mirror, “Say, sport, you ready for the museum?”

He nods quietly, holding his bag closer to him. He plays with the bee’s antennae, watching it as it bobs back and forth in a quiet manner. He likes fiddling around with it, watching it go back and forth in a comforting motion. A constant thing.

He’s always been a quiet child, he didn’t like stirring up trouble at the least. He hated the idea that he had to focus on what he wanted. He rather just go along with the flow.

  
  


_(“No, Astria, you can’t have that. It’s Tubbo’s turn.” Her eyes had faded from his memory, he can’t remember her name. Her face. Her accent. She sounded stuffed up, sick perhaps?_

_The older girl stomps her foot angrily, pointing at Tubbo in a vicious manner, “It’s not fair! He’s not even my brother and he’ll never be!”_

_Ah that’s right. He was taken in to replace a kid, a kid that Astria had viewed as her brother, but he was too quiet for that. Her brother was more out there, more sport-like._

_Unlike Tubbo, who preferred to look at drawings._

_Tubbo reaches out, picking the thing that Astria wanted, “It’s okay, let’s get this for Astria.” He smiles at her, wanting her love._

_A firm line, showing that the mother was disappointed with him listening to her daughter - but not correcting her daughter, “Fine.” She bites out bitterly.)_

Quiet. How does Tubbo stop being so quiet? He isn’t sure, he doesn’t like the attention, he never did in the first place. He likes playing games, ones where he can grind for materials. One where he can think and plan out. But he’s not loud. He's not talkative as the kids in the home - or at school. He clams up when adults talk to him and he's been working on it, gods he's been trying.

He doesn’t go on voice chat or anything like that. He gets the play of the game most of the time and he doesn’t… get angry...or loud...

He leans on the window, resting his chin in the small divot of his elbow and looks outside to all the passing cars. The buildings they go past have people bustling themselves around, smiling and talking to one another. Socializing. He wonders if he can ever do that one day without freezing up...

Wilbur and Philza were talking about something, new renovations on their newest gigs. Philza was laughing at something the older sibling had said. A soft smile graces Tubbo’s lips as he yawns, deciding to go to sleep until he gets there.

* * *

Tubbo’s been always interested in art. He just likes how it feels. When the paint gets between your fingers and makes a mess. There was just this feeling about it that made him feel… Somewhat content. Like he was happy when he got a brush in his hand, where he can doodle without any worry.

Painting his feelings out was a great stress reliever, other than eating pufferfish he has heard about. Only that it was extremely expensive and there was no way he can put that strain on Philza, after everything he has done for him.

So he settles on looking at it instead.

Walking in the building was intensely scary.

Pure white walls and crystal black floorings with sparkles in them. He stood well behind Wilbur and Philza, his hand reaching out to grab the end of their shirts. So he doesn’t get lost. There were paintings in golden frames and it wasn’t crowded by any means. It had just enough people, glancing around in a curious manner, memorized by the paintings.

“Two adults and one kid please.” Philza did hand motions as he spoke, a mindless task he had learned when doing his jobs was sign language. He had grown so used to doing sign language when he spoke that it became a handy skill down the line.

He holds onto Wilbur’s dark blue tattered coat tightly, tugging it slightly so that he can see at the front desk too and admire the notable pictures behind him.

There’s a quiet gasp, from the lady in front who looks down at him in mind shock, surprised at him. At his appearance?

“Huh?” Tubbo peeps out, tilting his head as she scrambles for something, a pamphlet of some kind and opens it to show a picture of…

_Himself…?_

But it’s not him, although Philza is laughing at the coincidence and Wilbur had put his hand on his shoulder, as comforting motion as he looks at the picture in confusion.

The artist was generally unknown, although records show that there were a few pictures of him. Schlatt went by, although he sadly passed away sometime this year, making these paintings more valuable.

And he looked… bizarrely like him. Schlatt had dark brown hair with a pair of silly horns on him, like a ram’s. Was he cosplaying as something? His eyes were hidden under a mask, but he had his same cheek bones and hair.

(He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t like to think about it.)

They wander away from the lady, after getting their tickets. Tubbo feels more attention on him, or maybe it was his imagination. He looked similar to the artist apparently.

Apparently.

And he had this attraction to paint...

He holds onto Wilbur’s coat as they went from frame to frame. There were many things distorted, much to its name. Some of the paintings weren’t even finished, with a white canvas with pencil sketchings still up there, framed. Small notes written on the side of it, so small that he couldn’t even read it - it being cursive didn’t help either.

He’s really bad at English. Most of the letters tend up blurring together and he mixes them up sometimes. He flubs words when he speaks too - so he rather save himself the embarrassment and not speaks out loud when the teacher calls out for him.

Wilbur helps him with the words, smiling kindly at him as he listens, nodding slowly as he tries to repeat the word in his mind. 

_**Reserved seating.** (A chair covered in red vines, the sofa looks invitingly good for his sore legs.) _

_**??? on table.** (Pool? There's a stick in on the side of it and he thinks the number seven ball is right beside it.) _

_**Fabricated world.** (A long painting that stretched from wall to wall, messily angrily scribbled in to describe absolutely nothing.) _

_……?_

Tubbo blinks as the lights flicker, he lets go of Wilbur to look up, covering the light from his eyes as it flicks on and off in a pattern.

He reaches for Wilbur again, only to be caught off guard when all he makes contact with is the air.

“Wil…?” He calls out confusingly, looking around when the lights flicker back on. There’s no one near him, there’s no one anywhere actually. Wilbur had vanished?

Tubbo keeps going, catching glimpse of paintings as he hurriedly tries to find his older brother, “Wil? Wil?” He calls out quietly, trying to not get attention to himself, and find him. He had let go of his coat, just for a moment! Just a quick moment and he had lost him!

“Wil? Wil, where’d you go?”

_**Enlightenment.** (It’s a picture of an eye, similar to one that’s in history books, about Egypt.) _

_**Your dark figure.** (It’s kind of like a cat?) _

**_???_ **

Dread fills his chest as he looks up at the large blue lady, melting away above him, nearly towering over him with it’s sheer height. He grows more anxious, feeling something grip his heart - but he can’t cry. He can’t - not right now.

He’s in public.

Even though there was no one near him, he didn’t want to cause a scene. He doesn’t want to cause trouble…

Wasn’t Philza behind them too? Where did he go to? Where was everyone? Where?

Where was everyone?

Was this some sort of prank???

Was this planned or…

_Did they finally get tired of him?_

No, he bats that insecurity away and grips his bee bag closer to his chest. No matter how much he had insecurity, everyone was gone from the museum, it was just him in this quiet room. In these halls that told no lies.

Something was obviously suspicious. It seemed like a welcome to the museum kind of deal, where it was a prank. Like a surprising tour where he can explore everything himself.

_**Taste cleaning tree** (Looks like hanging lights, multicolored lines hanging from the black stem.) _

_**???** (A ball of pink paint is being stabbed by something sharp, large comedic knives?) _

_**Lady in red** (A brown haired girl with a kind smile, dressed in a red dress. Some of it is dripping outside of the golden frame.) _

Maybe he should check the front desk. He peels his eyes away from the painting, spotting the stairs and skipping two by two, hurriedly getting down. However, as he lands on the last step, the lights once again flicker, only this time shutting off entirely. He’s engulfed in darkness, which only heightens his anxiety.

There’s no one near the front desk either.

He tries the door, maybe they’re waiting for him out there, in the car. Maybe he took too long. Maybe they were mad at him.

Maybe he did something wrong.

But the brown doors were firmly shut, not budging the slightest. In fact… He presses his hand on them, startled by the brown paint sticking onto his hands. The door… was a painting? The pleasant feeling he mentioned earlier, with the paint between his fingers, wasn't there, in fact his heart had started racing, raising in fear and anxiety...

“Huh?” Tubbo blinks, rubbing the brown glossy paint onto his pants, making a large brown stain on his dark blue jeans. “What the hell…?”

**BANG BANG BANG!**

Tubbo jumps ten feet in the air, looking wildly at the window that had hand prints on it.

Was someone banging on it?

“This isn’t funny!” He tries to say confidently, but his voice wavers, falling back down in a default whisper, “If this is a prank… it’s not funny anymore!”

No one responds.

Quiet just like him.

If he dies, no one will hear him scream.

He keeps wandering, using the dim back up light as a guide, trying to find someone, anyone. An adult he can talk to - to find anyone. But it’s lonely, it’s incredibly quiet in here.

He’s twelve, he should be fine on his own. He just entered middle school, he should be braver. But he follows along the walls.

**Cough cough!**

He jumps at any bizarre noise, they all catch him off guard, there’s something scary about it being noiseless, then sudden noises. It breaks it out of suspense, because he feels like it can hurt him. But this means that there was someone near him, right?

Hurriedly, he darts to the left, his red sneakers are silent too, he’s used to not making any noise, back in the home. He sees a large painting, an angry red feminine lady raising a finger at a smaller blue boy, who was playing a piano.

_Well meaning ???_

If Wilbur was here, he could help him read this word - but he’s not.

But-

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Wilbur’s dark blue coat, slightly dipped in the painting below, on the floor. There’s blue footprints here too and the red velvet rope was open, practically inviting him in there. He grabs the thick coat and keeps it folded between his arms. It’s a bit too big to put on and he’ll just end up dragging it though the floor so he’ll hold onto it, just until he finds Wilbur.

Tubbo swallows thickly, standing at the end of the red velvet rope, looking down at the deep sea monster painting. Sickly dark blue colors blended in - and- and if you could look closely, there was an armless snake-like entity, not moving, but filled with gaping holes and small light blue rounded teeth. His mouth was slightly ajar, as if inviting him closer, beckoning him in the mouth of the beast.

He sighs deeply, gaining all his courage and walks in with a noisy splash.

* * *

Tubbo isn’t covered in paint. In fact, the brown stain on his pants had disappeared, leaving him at the very top of a eerily cold hallway.

Blue walls and blue floorings, with a golden frame adorning the left and right side.

Rocks that seemed washed with the sea, the red on the right, the blue on the left.

_Where the hell was he?_

He doesn’t know what’s going on, he has no idea. He had somehow lost Wilbur and Philza, and now he was in a painting, trying to find them. He holds onto Wilbur’s coat, holding his bee bag a bit closer as he continues down the hallway.

On the walls, as he walks down towards a vase with a red flower in it, there’s small lettering that spelled out something...

**_C….O…..ME…...TU…...BBOOO._ **

**** Tubbo shivers, grabbing at his arms as he stops in front of the vase. There lies a red rose in a grey vase. Hesitantly, he reaches out, holds it gently and moves the table out the way of the door. There’s a bit of water in the vase still, so he’s not sure what to do.

He walks in, sputtering and taking a step back as there’s a large lady in a golden frame, smiling creepily at him. He spots a small sparkle on the floor, it’s a blue key. Carefully, his eyes pinned on the lady, whose grey blue hair was curling out of the painting, and reaches out with his foot to grab the key. His foot catches the tip of they key and it slowly drags along the floor, towards him.

Her face distorts, twisting into a crooked grin when he has the key in his hand.

Disturbed, he shuts the door and locks it from the outside and leans against the blue door. He collapses, falling down to his knees. There’s a note on the floor that wasn’t out here before, and the letters spelling out his name had turned red, causing a chill to run down his spine.

_(You and the rose are ?????? Know the weight of your own life.)_

  
He takes a deep sigh and burries his eyes in his knees. He just.... needs some time to process this.


	2. You think you have the right idea, but it's not, it's not what you think-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He has to get to his family again, he has to get to Philza and Wilbur - was Wilbur in here actually…? 
> 
> He looked down at the coat, he did find it dipped in the ink like it was snagged on something on the way down. Could Wilbur be in this place - looking for him, just as he’s looking for the older one?
> 
> Was he lost too?

Tubbo is scared in the end, he’s frozen in the spot because he has no idea what to do. He hugs the coat closer, inhaling Wilbur’s dulled out apple shampoo from the jacket. It helps ground his mind a bit and that’s all he can really ask for. At least at the moment, in the moment but he can’t help but feel more and more anxious.

Tucked in between his knees, he tries to focus on breathing, because he needed that to think clearly.

And he knows, he knows that sitting around here won’t solve anything. Sitting here and waiting for an adult won’t lead to anything - so he has to be brave. But it’s easier said than done because his hands won’t stop shaking and his nerves from earlier were fried.

Sitting around here was going to do nothing. He’s not some princess that needs to be saved.

_(She didn’t come back for him, so he had to go find her. She said she would be back, she said she wouldn’t leave him here forever, that this was just temporary until he stopped throwing a tantrum._

_She never came back.)_

He has to get to his family again, he has to get to Philza and Wilbur - was Wilbur in here actually…? 

He looked down at the coat, he did find it dipped in the ink like it was snagged on something on the way down. Could Wilbur be in this place - looking for him, just as he’s looking for the older one?

Was he lost too?

With that, he stood up abruptly, heading to the left and yelping pathetically as he stepped on the coat and tripped face first onto the blue carpeted floor. 

“Uggh…” He groans, sitting back up and staring distastefully at the coat tucked in his arms. Although he had taken such great care as to not wear it down or get it dirty, it was definitely going to get in his way. Maybe he can fold it a certain way so that it doesn’t hinder him?

In fact…

Tubbo smiles to himself at the flash idea, spreading it across the floor and beginning to fold it neatly, using the right arm sleeve to bring the end of the coats together, making a rucksack, a very loose and shifty one that could hold his stuff and not get in the way if he ties it around his waist, around his side.

It’s right next to his bee bag, hanging closely with its insides open slightly, just so that Tubbo can reach in the pocket and pull out one of his candies, to help ground him. To help him focus. To understand what has to be done and to give him a bit of energy still.

His rose however...

He twirls it between his fingers, noting on how it had no thorns. It had been carefully snipped off, as if he would get hurt on it. It was more fragile, it only had three petals holding it together. So it’s best if he had it on his hand.

Tubbo ignores the letterings on the walls, going back down the hallway he came to where the two paintings lied, the ones with the rocks washed up on shore.

_The stairs he came down are gone. There’s no way back now._

His heart pounds in his chest, but he doesn’t give a voice to his growing anxieties. Naming them will just make it worse, it’ll just make it worse.

It’ll just make it worse.

* * *

It’s almost like he went outside.

The grass underneath his red sneakers seemed plush, vibrantly shining green. If he just looked at the grass, it seemed like he would be outside. But if he looked up, the long stretching vern green hallways gave it away. The walls were darker. In front of him, there was a piece of wall that stood out, in the middle of a long hallway, reading, “Beware of the edges.”

Quiet.

It was so quiet.

He misses Wilbur’s soft fingers strumming the guitar in their house. He misses Philza’s paper work machines that ringed quietly in the night, just out of earshot.

“Hey, you.” A small gritty voice calls out, bringing Tubbo back into the unfortunate reality he was stuck in. He looked around, his mouth slightly agape as he looked for the source of the voice.

“Down here.”

Tubbo listens, looking down and seeing a black speck, an ant?

“What are you doing here?” It asks him, simple and plainly.

Tubbo crouches, bending to his knees, “I’m lost. Can you tell me how to leave?” He asks politely, past the questioning point on why the ant was talking to him.

“Leave? Why would you want to leave a place like this?” The ant asks back, tethering away from him, darting in different directions, “There’s so much for you to explore, did you see my painting yet? Can you show me my painting?”

The ant seems to have lost interest in him. He’s wandering away and Tubbo is extra careful not to step on him as he advances. He heads to the right first, coming down a hallway with various insects on the walls.

_(Painting of a ladybug. It’s red vibrant wings almost seem real. The sudden flutter shakes Tubbo, causing him to move onto the next picture.)_

_(Picture of a bee… It’s not as cute as Tubbo remembers it being, with it’s mouth largely exaggerated.)_

_(Picture of a pretty purple butterfly. Not much else to it.)_

_(Picture of a black widow spider. It stares back at him, almost challenging him into touching it. He doesn’t.)_

The grass doesn’t seem to change shade as he walks down the hall, but he’s noticing the thin plastic shine, indicating that it’s fake. He looks up again, noticing how the pictures now showed larva to a butterfly, all labeled like chapters in a book.

A larva was the prologue, chapter four was the butterfly, flying away from the cocoon. None of it was the picture the ant was looking for.

Tubbo turns back, walking back down the hall and where the roads split. He didn’t get to finish exploring the right side but he has a feeling that nothing was down there, yet. Nothing he needed yet.

He goes back to the sign and weaves his way to stand directly in front of it. Beware of the edges? What did that mean?

He gets his answer in three short seconds.

“Gyah!” He halfway screams, reeling back at the black silicone hands popping out from the walls and grabbing for him, trying to grab him - but he’s just, thank god, he’s just out of reach.

The fingers wriggled, trying to grab onto him and he peels from disgust, at the idea, of being touched. They popped with a mock roar, trying to scare him - but he wasn’t too scared since he seemed safe from the middle of it, safely away from the hands.

_(He didn’t really notice how badly he had grown accustomed to not… touching things. Or people. Or dogs. Or cats._

_It sorta just happened._

_When Philza hugged him one time, he hadn’t realized how bizarre and weird it was. To have warmth rolling over him in a comforting motion, or what was assumed to be comforting._

_But it was nothing but suffocating. A warm cage of something, something he didn’t understand. It felt like he was trapped, despite- despite the fact that he knew Philza meant well - that he meant to make it feel more welcoming._

_He avoids their eyes, worries and loves nothing short.)_

He keeps going the way up, reaching the end of the hall when he spots it. The ant’s painting! He sprints over, recoiling violently when a hand in front of him, on the edge of the wall pops out and rips a petal from his red rose.

Tubbo winches, stuttering a few short steps as he feels a numbing shock spread though his body, starting from his fingertips and falling down to his heels. A burden on his shoulders, from a flower?

He reaches over and takes off another petal, leaving only a single petal left. The pain from earlier was still there, but there was no added pain. Instead, his shoulders sagged, feeling too entirely heavy to hold up.

Was his life tied to a flower!?

_Seriously?_

A part of him was amazed. He wasn’t sure how the hell a gallery managed to teleport him in a different dimension (Maybe this is why they called the Gallery of distortion) and link his life to a flower, but another part was just drowning in dread.

Flowers are extremely fragile. One unsightly brush of wind could kill him. There were no wounds on him, so he guesses that it’s also tied to his mental state as well.

Great.

He makes quick work, carefully taking off the painting and eyeing the green door right beside the painting and the grey vase. He tucks the painting between his arm and body, testing the suspected locked door and hovering over the grey vase.

Tubbo drops his rose gently in the vase, watching as it blooms into a beautiful red, the petals grow back instantly. His shoulders felt instantly relieved, and he was…

Okay. He guesses???

Whatever, that healed him, with whatever magic stuff that is.

Thinking about it just gave him a splitting headache.

“Oh hey, that’s me.” The ant says monotonously, bored already, “Yep, looks like I just remembered it.”

Tubbo felt a tick in his neck, “Can you tell me how to leave?” He asks again, more persistent. He was hoping that since he brought back the painting, like he requested that he could get an answer, but sadly, he doesn’t think that’s the case based on the angry huff from the ant.

“Oh suck it up! Why do you want to leave?” The ant says harshly, “This place was meant for you, it’s been waiting for you!”

He scoffs in disbelief, “I don’t care. Tell me how to get out, I need to go home.”

The ant ignores him.

Tubbo keeps moving, exploring the right side again but coming to the other green door, the final thing he didn’t go through. He follows it, his hand twists the knob and it reveals an empty voidless pit, just perfect for the painting to hold over.

Since the ant didn’t want his painting, he spread it from one end to the other, to use it as a bridge to get to the other side without much hassle.

When he steps on it, it splits open, the ant painting is a mush, a messy slippery mess of ant blood.

Ah.

Maybe he felt a little bad now.

He opens the next door slowly, his eyes instantly wander down to the green key… and the headless mannequin standing above it, menacingly.

Tubbo had a bad feeling that this was going to reach him… To grab him suddenly…

Biting his lower lip, he quickly unwraps a honey candy, popping it in his mouth and tucking the trash in the bee bag. He stands in front of it, keeping his gaze on the tall (seemingly) inanimate object.

It’s positioned so perfectly, to grab him if he tried bending down and reaching for it. But it seemed too heavy for him to move by himself. Maybe Tommy could move it with him, if he were here, but he’s not.

He’s alone here.

Quickly, without thinking about it, he swipes up the key, backing up fast as the hands reach out to snag him, to grab him. He couldn’t let it grab him, as he ran back. His weight and thunderous motions, it rips underneath him just as he gets to the other side. He fell momentarily, but a stroke of luck, his upper body caught the other side, allowing him to pick himself up.

Panting heavily, he sees the mannequin, dressed in a thin red dress stand there, with its arms still outstretched, ready to catch him if he was crazy enough to get to the other side for no reason. There was nothing else there - the only item was securely in his other hand, a green key.

“Hey, where did my painting go?”

Tubbo ignores him.

* * *

A large blue room, cobalt blue to be exact is the next room. There’s nothing in here, it’s a spacious room with no paintings or anything. The floor had changed into a dark spruce flooring and it creaked loudly with every step, much to Tubbo’s displeasure.

He usually could step over every creak if you look at how exactly the floorboards rose. The ones with small shines had bumps in it, so if you stepped on it, the air underneath would escape, making such an unpleasant sound. He had been so careful to not do it, but now entering this room - it made his efforts seem useless.

He tries the door, but it’s locked. The one he came though was locked too.

There’s nothing in this room. But he looks around anyways, walking in a circle, trying to not make a noise but there’s always those creaks. And he’s not one to curse but what the fuck?

**_SKCHH_ **…!

His eyes wander to the quiet noise, spotting red ink on the blue walls. It drips messily over the letters a bit but it’s mostly readable. Was it a hint?

  
  


**_Why won’t you look at me? Why aren’t you proud of me? I did this all for you, son, I did all this for you - please, please please look at me. Please tell me that you’re happy. It didn’t matter what happened - it’s in the past. It didn’t concern you. I made a mistake so please._ **

**_Please._ **

Tubbo tilts his head curiously at the messy handwriting on the wall, written in haste, with red ink. This didn’t help him get out of here, now did it? But yet, maybe this can explain something else, a piece to a puzzle?

**_It’s so lonely. In this house._ **

Another thing written beside it, when he tries to pass it.

**_It wasn’t my mistake, so why are you blaming it on me? Son, please. I'll pour my soul in my work, I’ll make you proud, please. Please, don’t do this._ **

He grows irritated, this didn’t help him getting out of here. This was just… something telling a story and it didn’t lead to where Wilbur could be. Or where the exit is.

**_I did the right thing. I don’t know what else you want from me. Wandering won’t get you anywhere. Why did you think it’ll get you anywhere now? Come home. Come home please. We can talk about it._ **

**_The door is always open for you._ **

As if on cue, the door clicks open. It opens slowly, revealing nothing but darkness, but the only way out there was through that door. So he doesn’t hesitate. He walks through the door, shutting it quietly.

He misses the lime green scribbles written right underneath the door comment.

**_Only for me? Typical._ **

* * *

The liar room wasn’t a challenge.

Maybe that should have made him upset, on how he instantly knew who was telling the truth and who wasn’t. He’s been in those situations before, where the liars agreed and matched up with their stories, while the quiet kid knew the answer.

_(“Why’d you do it?”_

_Tubbo could almost laugh at Tommy’s angry and betrayed face, his fists clenched up and shaking in anger._

_“Why’d you just… take that shit?”_

_“I needed a ruler, so I ju-”_

_“I know you didn’t actually take it!” Tommy shouts, angrily, “I took it, I took it and framed you - but why- why did you just say you did it!?? You could have- have denied it or something… But when everyone accused you, you just… took it…” He trails off, ripping his gaze away from Tubbo with a scowl._

_He feels guilty. He didn’t mean for Tubbo to take the blame, it was just to borrow it briefly. Just to use it to cut paper. But Ms. Wordsworth made it seem like it, since she wanted to be cool with the kids._

_He was the quiet target. One who wouldn’t fight back._

_Tommy was the loud one, vowing to get back any anyone who crossed him._

_Tubbo smiles gently, chuckling fondly between his fingers, “Well, I don’t hold any bad feelings to anyone. And I don’t know why Ms. Wordsworth made it such a big deal but - it’s nothing to be really concerned with.”_

_He kicks some mulch out of the playground area, over the white pipes and into the grass, “I didn’t want to cause more trouble than what I already am.”_

_“You’re…” Tommy frowns at him, his bushy eyebrows furrowed together, “You’re fuckin dumb. You’re not trouble. I’m trouble. I’m the big troublemaker.”_

_“Well.” Tubbo walks over, smiling easily to match Tommy’s huge frown, “We’re both trouble then!”)_

When there was no one to talk to, to keep him together, he liked focusing on happy memories. He would focus on the environment but…

His eyes mutely go up to the blue dolls, hanging by their necks with vibrant red string, towards the door that requires a passcode.

Maybe he didn’t want to talk about the damn dangerous situation he found himself at. He adjusts his bags, opening it slightly as he takes a wooden apple and places it in.

He hopes those lips choke on this.

It was a math puzzle room. Where he had to remember the shade of the number along with the actual number to get a passcode to go into a room, where he gets a wooden apple, to feed to a pair of moving lips on the wall.

This was after a cat room, where he had to find the stick figure to catch a fish head to connect it with the fish tail, to feed a wall cat.

He told himself that he wasn’t going to question anything else, because it seemed that this gallery was solely based on tricking him somehow. Everytime he thinks that something makes sense, it takes ten steps back then drop-kicks him into ‘what the hell’ is happening now.

**_WELCOME HOME._ **

It’s scribbled next to the pair of lips, in bright lime green. He brushes past it, pulling out the apple and gently placing it in his mouth.

The lips greedily gobble it, but the sound of wood and the crunch makes it seem unnatural.

“Thank you for the meal. I let you pass now, go though my mouth.” And if it can’t get even weirder, it opens its mouth so that the bottom touches the floor, wide and eager enough to swallow him. He is… disturbed.

Wilbur and Philza always warned him about going with strangers. Or listening to strangers was bad. But he’s pretty sure he never heard any advice on going through someone’s mouth.

And it’s warm and humid, it’s breath stinks and he hates every single moment of this.

On the other side, there’s a guillotine hanging on the wall, in a picture frame. It slowly rises with each picture, hanging above with a single red string supporting it. That can’t be safe enough to hold that big of a blade if he thought realistically. And it kept getting higher and higher-

Tubbo takes a sharp step back, glaring up a large blade, hanging threatening over the stairs. He almost didn’t catch it, too distracted with seeing the pictures that it was now out the frame, fully intending to kill him if he was caught off guard.

He takes out some loose papers, from his candies. He balls it between his fingers and tosses it.

**SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH…**

**BANG!**

The noise alone nearly causes tears in his eyes. There’s a sharp indent on the ground, cracked enough to make a crease. But the main part is that it’s loud, it’s so loud.

Tubbo is quiet, because he doesn’t like causing trouble. But he looks forward to the day where he’s not driven to tears by some stupid loud noise, by some stupid gallery.

He shakily makes his way down the stairs, watching as the yellow halls made their way to being red. He sits at the bottom and sighs deeply.

Another break then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never thought that I'd suffer with writing the puzzles, did you know that I had a plan written out - I was going to add more puzzles but that single ant puzzle costed nearly two thousand words and I'm horrible to sticking to a script.
> 
> But regardless! I hope you enjoy it as it is!


	3. Eyes blue like the Atlantic, drowning down like the Titanic, green hues that show the end queue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw /// child abuse and starvation mentioned, Proceed with caution.

The red rose in his hand felt heavier, his head felt heavier but he kept going. Tubbo’s so unbelievably tired and overwhelmed, but with a steady look, he stands up to continue down the red hallway.

He doesn’t even flinch when something flies past him, it’s a flash but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He holds the bee bag closer to him, propping it up to his elbow and holding it securely. He plays with the antenna, swinging it back and forth and trying to focus his breathing.

**_Breath_ ** _(It’s a painting with a horn. There’s air blowing out of it, it isn’t useful.)_

He moves to the next door, opening it with a slow creak, it’s the only sound in the room. Opening it reveals a large looming blue figure, a woman-

Tubbo sharply inhales and purses his lips.

_(She looks too close to her.)_

A woman made entirely out of dark blue, smiling ever so gently, So kindly as she had a snake around her arm, kissing it lightly.

**Uh.**

That’s the title of the sculpture. Tubbo tears his gaze away, turning to the right and wandering, where he finds another sculpture, the same height but it’s a dark green woman this time, singing something, he assumes.

**Ah.**

Was… the artist okay? Did he just name-

Tubbo shakes his head, grunting in frustration as he tries to get his bearings. He angrily ruffles his hair, making it a huge floofy mess. He had to focus on how to get out of here, not lollygag and mess around like this.

This place… was really messing his vibe up.

He brushes past the green sculpture and eyes the small red key on the floor, right over another lady in red. She was holding a string, tied to the key, while smiling at him. But the pleasant smile, back in the dark gallery was nothing like this one.

A twisted sharp sinister smile stretched from ear to ear, inviting him to try - try taking the key from her.

He stares back passively, tilting his head as a mock smile. She blinks, copying his motions, caught off guard when he rushes and snatches up the key. Tubbo snaps the string holding it, before she can react and dashes to use it on the first door he sees.

He locks it shut and leans back on it. He can hear banging, he can hear her high-pitched scream, he can hear his heart trashes in his heart, violently threatening to pop out. She's so bloody loud!

_(Tubbo can hear him screaming back at the lady, what an idiot. He sits outside, underneath a tree, hearing bees buzz. His eyes are closed, hidden under the tree's shade, carefully tucked away from the world._

_When he hears Tommy’s body slump beside him, exhaustion weeping though his bones. Tubbo digs in his pockets and pulls out some strawberry candy. Some of it spills out onto the lush grass. It’s not his favorite but it's what he has. Tommy takes it without hesitation, quickly shoveling it in his mouth._

_“Strawberry today.” Tubbo doesn’t look at him, but he knows Tommy’s simmering in anger, biting the tip of his thumb as he thinks, “I got some more, I always carry candy with me so…”_

_“Told me some fuckin shit, that since I was loud yesterday for yellin at her for not feeding the kids, I didn’t get to eat.” Tommy tucks himself in his knees, shaking his head, “Stupid fuckin…”_

_“They should hold you over until Techno returns.” Tubbo gives him a soft smile, reaching out to hold his hand. He doesn’t like hugs, but hand holding is okay. It was like a rope, something so secure and meant to mean well, “Don’t worry Tommy.”_

_“...mmm…” Tommy's on his fifth candy already.)_

Tubbo opens his eyes, finally able to steady his breathing after that, due to remembering a good memory, of his friend. He wishes he was here, he’s glad that he’s not actually - he takes that back. He walks around, eyeing the door and the bookshelves, two rows of it.

One of them is sticking out. On it, it's labeled as, " **Idealistic family.** "

He tentatively reaches out, his hand reaches out to touch it. It's the only one sticking out, so he guesses he has to push it in to unlock, like one of those mystery TV shows, where a hidden passage may show up?

He pushes it in.

-

-

-

**AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!**

A blood curdling scream rings out, like someone was stabbed. It rings though his head, hammering down on his skull and it hurts.

Whimpering, Tubbo whispers a curse, falling to the floor and holding his head between his elbows. He falls to his knees and it’s not fair - it’s not fucking fair!

He just managed to calm down - he just calmed down, this place doesn’t get to do this to him. It doesn’t get to take the years of therapy and help he’s gotten! That's not it works! It never should work like that because it wasn't fair!

It doesn’t get to erase all that!

He didn’t like loud noises. He never did - he always got overloaded with them, but he was getting better. He knew he was getting better… He didn’t flinch when the teacher sometimes got mad at them. He didn’t flinch when Wilbur got heated in Mario kart. And he smiles in gratitude when Philza apologizes profusely when he accidentally slams a door open. And he’s been getting better.

He knows he has...

But ever since he’s gotten here, lost in this distorted world, this fabricated world. Everything was just so so so so so damn _loud._

_It's like all his efforts were all in vain._

The door clicks open, showing that he was allowed to move on, but he stays in that little section, just a bit, just a bit longer.

_(“It’s not you.” Philza sits him down one day, holding his hand, a firm presence that promised him that he wasn’t going to leave him alone, “That doesn’t define you.”_

_“I’m quiet, that’s what people know me for...” Tubbo protested gently, rubbing his eyes and shaking his head rapidly, “What do you mean "it’s not me"? That’s why… I was left alone… It has to be me, I have to be the problem.”_

_“You don’t know that.” Wilbur pipes in, sitting across from him, clasping his hand warmly around his free one, “No one knows that, but what dad’s trying to say that it’s okay. It’s okay if you don’t like noises. It doesn’t control you - you control it.”)_

“I don’t get it.” Tubbo mumbles under his breath, holding his bee bag closer and rests a hand on Wilbur’s dark coat. He stands up, quietly advancing and wiping stray tears dripping down, “I really can’t stand this alone anymore.”

* * *

Still bleary from his freak-out, he stands in front of a painting of a blue vase, labeled, “ **Eternal life.** ”

He peeks into the base, looking at the water slosh in there, it heals his rose pretty easily, although he doesn’t feel mentally better… at all… But...

It's something at least. He's still alive. That's something...

Tubbo heads to the left, noting the red walls just seemed to get closer and closer, a claustrophobic feeling. Tommy would hate it here.

There’s a grey vase on the right of him, when Tubbo gets to the next room. He notes how there’s light blue roses on the floor, heavily contrasting with the rich velvet red carpet. It sticks out like a sore thumb.

Was there someone else other than him here?

There’s the same lettering back at the beginning, where it told him that the rose were connected to his life, were these rose petals too? They're blue.

He walks over to the other door, testing the door and physically slumping when it’s locked. But there was a window… Maybe he can peek in to see someone?

_(It’s her.)_

She’s similar to the lady in red, although her dress was blue. She was crouched down, halfway out of her painting and tearing the rose slowly apart. He knocks on the window, trying to get her attention - but to no avail. She doesn’t move. And he can’t get in unless he has the key, so he has to get in somehow. There's a flower, it was probably linked to someone. Maybe he can help them?

He debates on smashing the window.

But he’s twelve and he can’t even hear the glass make a ping noise when he tries to use his fist. But there’s nothing in his inventory to help with this, so he moves on, moving back to the eternal life vase and keeps going to the right where he sees…

There’s someone on the floor, face down. Lightly blond tousled hair wearing a white tee with red shoulder patches. It's a male, wearing dark blue skinny jeans...

“Tommy!?” Tubbo cries out in shock, scrambling over to him and cautiously hovering over him. He falls to his knees, pressing his fingers against his neck and waiting. For a pulse, god for anything. He holds his breath.

.

.

.

_There…!_

Tubbo nearly sighed in relief, but he didn’t stop moving. His hands wandered down to his pockets, his shirt pocket before prying gently the key to the door in his hand. He quickly gets to his feet, hesitating when he hears his best friend’s groan.

And it _hurts._

He runs quickly down the hall, ignoring how his shoes matched his heart. He wheezes loudly, grabbing at his chest as he slows down, in front of the red door, looming over him. It's standing between him and the flower.

_(And her.)_

The walls seem closer, his breathing is so loud - but he can’t care, he can’t be bothered to care when Tommy’s in the other room, dying because some painting was tearing apart his rose. The thing that was connected to his life. Tommy could be dying right now, he's dying right now.

He doesn’t care about how bullshit this stupid gallery was! He didn't care on how bizarre and weird it was. He only could grit his teeth because he knew that there was one thing he absolutely sure about:

Tommy wasn't dying here!

Tubbo had to physically shove her back as he took the rose, gentle to not trash it with his hands curling around it protectively, his fingers won't stop trembling. He slams his shoe in her face, buffering her back a step and does it again when she lunges at him, trying to get it back.

He stomps on her petty blue fingernails and scoots back, getting to his feet and peeling out of there. His heart races against him, slamming so loudly against his chest, he hears his blood pumping, he's still alive. He looks down at the nearly dead flower. He's alive still too.

He watches in mute as the blue rose flushes in the vase, blooming so prettily in this grim and sinister place.

Life was beauty, she was grace, she was love.

_(“It’s not because you’re bad, Tubbo.” She smiled gently at him, playing with his little hands with her finger, “No, you’re such a good kid, you can’t possibly be bad, this isn’t why I’m bringing you here.”)_

Tubbo carefully, mindful on how fragile the petals were, places it down securely beside Tommy and leans against the wall. He’s patient for the most part, he was probably in so much pain, he couldn’t move. He pauses, then goes back to Tommy, searching for something.

They had a system usually, at school. Since Tommy was still at the home and Tubbo was not, he always had candies in his bag. His bee bag, in his pockets, sometimes in his backpack, although he didn't like to - they always got crushed under his books. Sweets or sometimes something sour. Or sometimes he would just give his lunch to him, when Tommy was especially drained.

He would always give Tommy a handful each day, so he can hold over in case they ever starved him - which was unfortunately often. Just enough for Techno to bring food secretly, behind the orphanage where he would cook it for the kids - because the workers were cruel. Because they viewed Tommy as a bad kid.

Bad and loud kids didn’t eat.

Quiet and good kids got to eat.

Even though Tommy wasn’t a bad kid at all - they just found him annoying. The worse they probably did was dye Techno’s hair fluorescent pink (The elder one ended up liking it in the end, dying it pink daily ever since then.) and that was the extent of their pranks.

And in return, Tommy always had an extra pair of earbuds on him. The ones that stuck in his ears when the noises got too loud. He always checked on Tubbo, maybe because he always had food on him and because they were the bestest of friends.

He finds it, two dark blue sponge pieces fill his palms and it’s a secure feeling. Carefully, he twists them and inserts them into his ear, so that there’s nothing but silence. They puff up just as needed and he can’t hold back the relief flooding through him. Nothing but the blood rushing through his head. Just silence

He leans back on the wall, sighing in content, at finally having a buffer and someone beside him, even though he’s passed out.

It’s okay though, he knows it’s okay. Tubbo’s been over this a thousand times before. It wasn’t a stranger business. He’s used to Tommy’s dizzy spells. He knows that all he ahd to do now, was to wait for him to wake up. He had to be patient.

_It was the same_ , Tubbo closes his eyes, _he’ll wake up, he just has to be patient._

* * *

  
  


When Tommy wakes up, he freaks out, shouting at Tubbo's slowly waking form that he had nothing left to give, and the only reason why he could hear that was the fact that Tommy had _shouted it above his lungs._

Tubbo was never more relieved to snag the earbuds when he did because he’s sure that being shouted at when you just woken up after being in this terrible situation was 100% going to make him burst into tears. _Especially if it was Tommy._

Because Tommy only actually ever got mad at him was when he knows he did something wrong.

Tubbo goes to interrogating him, which instantly got a scowl from the taller male.

“I was just following Techno around when he wanted to explore this boring dingy gallery. Told me that this was his job and I shouldn’t be following him when I was an orphan.” Tubbo smiles inwardly as he can imagine Techno’s dead stare, his usual monotonous voice laced with annoyance, “Bitch, he’s an orphan too!”

“Sound like him, haha,” Tubbo grins cheekily, “He was probably trying to get all the fame and glory when he gets famous.”

Tommy throws hands up, sputtering in a mess of words, “He can’t do that - he’s already the big macho man, he can’t take anymore fame from me!”

“Mmm..” Tubbo’s smile melts as his posture fails, he leans on his friend’s shoulder, “So you have no idea how you got here either then..,”

“Nope.” Tommy lets the ‘p’ pop, with a shake of his head. He purses his lips, maybe again, realizing the sticky situation, "I freaked out when I got cornered so..."

“That’s fine then.” Tubbo lets out a long sigh, “It doesn’t matter if we have any idea why we’re here, we should focus on getting out.”

He stands up, wobbling a bit before Tommy reaches over and steadies him with a firm press on his shoulders. He thanks him and his blond friend pauses.

“Are you quite alright?” He asks genuinely, all traces of his easygoing smile slipping into one of concern, “Here, hold my hand.” He holds out his hand, firmly squeezing his hand when Tubbo matches it.

“It’s just too loud sometimes.” Tubbo admits easily, avoiding his worried blue eyes, his green eyes darting to the ground, “I have the earbuds now though, I’ll be fine.”

Tommy looks down at him again, his lips pursed firmly.

Of course Tommy can read him like a book, they grew up together after all.

“...It’s been trying to get under my skin. It keeps yelling or slamming things down…” Tubbo caves easily, bowing his head. He fiddles with the earbuds between his fingers, “I think the reason why we’re here probably has to do with me. It keeps welcoming me home, but I’ve never been here before…”

He trails off, biting his lower lip at Tommy's unbelievably soft face. He's listening attentively, nodding along and encouraging him to finish. What a nice friend he has, truly, he must be blessed as Tubbo flashes him a reassuring smile.

“Mmm, yeah yeah. Don’t worry big man,” Tommy claps Tubbo’s back firmly, a grounding point in this miserable gallery, “Big man’s here to lead us through this!”

Tommy flashes him a toothy grin, throwing a thumbs up and marching forward. Only to halfway scream for his life when the painting with a wiggly tongue spits at him, leaving a light blue glob of spit in front of them.

And that’s what makes Tubbo giggle at his friend, the stress melts away, just a tad. Tommy was never a bad kid, sure - he was obnoxious and sometimes Tubbo too, thought about fighting him, he always had the sweetest intentions in mind.

“Idiot.” Tubbo disses him, sticking his tongue out and taking a hold of his hand, avoiding the spit glob.

The shorter one pauses, eyeing the mannequin suspiciously. It was similar to the one that attacked him in the fake garden. Except now, it was wearing a dark blue tie, resting firmly around it's collar.

Tommy peers down at him, in concern, “What’s up?”

Tubbo blinked up at him, “They haven’t attacked you yet? How long were you… here for?”

Tommy shrugged and maybe that’s why he didn’t seem too phased by it, “I… honestly have no idea. I think I was arguing with Techno and he left me since he didn’t like watching me. So I looked around and…” Tommy trails off, his eyes narrowing dangerously, a protective glint flashes, “-wait, did you just say ‘yet’? Those things move?”

Tubbo nodded sharply, bringing his arms up to hold his shoulders, “Yeah, it tried snatching at me so I…”

In a flash, Tommy moves forward and _rams_ his shoulder in the silicone mannequin, it wobbles unsurely, but he ends up knocking it clean down with a dull thud and making a way to the door easily. Tubbo blinks in shock, surprised at the display of strength.

“That’s right bitch.” Tommy sneers at the mannequin, kicking it then squeaking in pain, hopping up and down while holding his good foot, _“OW! Fuck!_ Motherfucker!”

* * *

Their friendship was like Bonnie and Clyde, two bandits that rode the wild west and committed a series of crimes together. While Tommy was the brawn, Tubbo tended to be the brains of the operation. If… there was an operation.

He guesses getting out of here would be the operation. Like two criminals escaping a jail cell, only that this was a gallery of distortion and they were just kids, lost.

They still went to the same school together, so even though they slept under different roofs, it wasn’t like he was going anywhere soon. Tommy and Techno came over once a week to eat a full meal, dinner usually, because Philza was always a worrywart over them, since he knew what was going on in that shady orphanage.

They were lucky that Tubbo managed to get out, after lots of underhanded threats and lawyers, even though he wasn’t exactly valuable in any way. They just liked having him around because he was often used as leverage against Tommy.

Tommy was a pure free spirit, who lived off spite and bravo. He faked confidence liked he breaths air, following after Techno's example. He admired the man greatly, viewing him as a hero of the orphanage. Because unlike the workers, who were always on their phones or strictly enforcing some stupid rule, he worked hard to do what was right. The kids were great, he loves them to bits, it's the workers that were the problem.

But it’s not like they can do anything about it. Even though Philza offered to take the two of them in, Techno had refused and Tommy exclaimed that he couldn’t live in the same house as Wilbur, stating that he only could handle one pig at a time. 

But reality was that Techno was nearly eighteen and he made it that far without any adults, he can keep going - but was grateful for the opportunity, nonetheless.

Secretly, Tubbo likes to imagine them as one big family. Even though Tommy and Techno weren’t official members, they were pretty close, he likes to think. He wishes he could get them out of there.

But he’s not old enough. And he’s weak. Physically at least. Tommy's better at that than him.

He likes to think he’s gotten stronger in terms of mental health.

But this…?

This was really testing it.

They had just gotten past a door that wanted flowers. Tommy had to slap his rose out his hand because he was already subconsciously about to give it to him.

_(“We have the bouquet from the bride, why are you tryin to give them your flower?” Tommy huffs in disbelief, shoving the fake pink flowers towards the painting, “Those things tied to your life, you should be more careful with that.”_

_Tubbo sweats, bending down to grab his rose, “Sorry… I wasn’t th-” He cuts himself off as the painting flashes red, violently ripping through the flowers. The petals get caught in it’s teeth, falling into a mess on the floor._

_There’s only the stems left._

_Tommy’s grip on his arm is a bit tighter, it's the only grounding point because that could have been him if Tommy hadn't stopped him._

_“... You trust too damn easily.”)_

He had to pay more attention this time.

And yet, even though he got the correct number from the hanging man, since it was backwards and upside down. Even though he got the correct number of ladies in various colors right.

_(He gets uneasy when he looks at the lady in blue because even Tommy notes that it looked eerily like him, because it was that woman. He doesn't voice it however, because she was no longer family to him.)_

Even though he got the puzzle right, he’s not prepared at all, when he sees the dark red beanie on the reserved seat, only there are a lot more red vines curling around it.

It sits in the middle of the room, the last room they had to go into. There’s a couple stray bookshelves, a half drawn portrait of him on a canvas. He can tell it's him because his name was scribbled underneath his eye. A large painting looming over the couch, securely pinned under the golden frame.

But that’s not really catches him off guard.

“What the hell…?” Tommy starts as Tubbo stares dumbly at his family, Wilbur and Philza. The painting depicted his family in a gruesome act. Philza had large grey wings and was holding a sword. He’s thrusting the sword though Wilbur’s stomach. He can’t see it clearly, but he can see the hint of a smile on his lips, his eyes were hidden under his hair, under his beanie.

  
_Like he’s happy that Philza stabbing him._

_**Your "family"**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some tommy ;3; Some comedic relief and Tubbo's only grounding point, AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAa.
> 
> Did you guys like my pauses and friendship points? I was really dying here, writing the puzzle bit by bit - so I only wrote bits and pieces of it. There was going to be a little scene with Dream but I decided to scrap it. It's better to leave you guys entirely in the dark about what this is leading up to ^^.
> 
> Also this gallery is just straight up torturing Tubbo. But at least Tommy's there now.

**Author's Note:**

> Ever heard of a RPG game called Ib? It's this game where you play as a little girl who's trying to find her way home after being sucked into a painting - only I'm adding my own little twist into it ;3
> 
> If you enjoyed, please don't be afraid to comment! I love readings things ^^
> 
> Meet me at:  
> @Xernia_Paroxysm on Insta  
> And red#4171 on discord


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